China's censorship measures extend not only to country's 2,000 newspapers, but to monitoring of websites and social media. Photograph: Gou Yige/AFP/Getty Images

When a liberal Chinese newspaper stood up to China's draconian censorship rules earlier this month, rank-and-file journalists across the country quietly tipped their hats to their intrepid colleagues – then returned to work as if nothing had happened.

The Guangzhou-based Southern Weekly newspaper's week-long battle over provincial propaganda officials' decision to turn an outspoken front-page editorial into brazen pro-Communist propaganda – and the ensuing three-day anti-censorship protest outside the paper's headquarters – do not herald a new dawn for Chinese press freedoms, that much is clear.

But analysts say the "Southern Weekly incident" has sparked a national dialogue about how journalists and their censors relate within the confines of a political system whose leaders are unwilling to face up to an unrestricted press.

"I don't think this particular event is the end of the story by any means – there will no doubt be other attempts to push at the edges," said Rana Mitter, an expert on Chinese politics at Oxford University. "But I think it shows a leadership that is unconfident in a significant way."

Yet details of the agreement are still unclear. Three Southern Weekly reporters contacted for this article refused to comment after being warned not to speak to the foreign press.

The paper, founded in 1984, has a reputation for publishing some of China's hardest-hitting investigative reportage. Analysts say its rebellious edge has been sharpened by strong support from a small cohort of reform-minded politicians. It has also become a role model for smaller publications that have less latitude to speak truth to power.

All of China's 2,000 newspapers are subject to degrees of Communist party censorship. Southern Weekly's editorials this week said the paper had been grappling with increasingly draconian controls since last spring, when the conservative former journalist Tuo Zhen became the province's highest propaganda official.

By rewriting the paper's pro-reform New Year's Day editorial, they said, Tuo overstepped the boundaries of an already-restrictive status quo.

Journalists have expressed their support for the paper in a variety of cryptic ways to evade internet monitors. The online portal Sina arranged its headlines so the first character of each line spelled out "Keep it up, Southern Weekly!" The Beijing News published an amorous note to "Southern Porridge" (porridge and week are homophones in Chinese).

Yet the rapid crackdown on the conversation and evidence of high-level support for Tuo have dashed these hopes, he said, adding that the intensity of the online backlash may only reinforce conservative politicians' conviction that relaxing press controls will jeopardise the party's grip on power.

"We can see the power of Weibo in the meantime," the editor said. "But we are also very concerned that these kinds of clashes will give the authorities additional reason to tighten controls." When asked whether the conflict had exacerbated tensions between Chinese journalists and their Communist party censors, he answered with an unequivocal "yes".

A prominent reporter in the south-western city of Chengdu was more optimistic. Chinese authorities often respond to potentially destabilising events by organising cautionary meetings at schools and offices. Yet the reporter, who also requested anonymity, said his paper's Communist managers remained encouragingly low-key throughout the conflict; the "Southern Weekly incident" had not altered his daily routine.

"Southern Weekly is a benchmark for Chinese media – and for many Chinese journalists, it is also the holy land for news," he said, adding that many of his managers felt the same way. "It reflects the aspirations of the Chinese people."